Harry Potter: Cloaked Conspiracy
by nlspeednl
Summary: Riddle, third dark lord of the century, has perished. Why, nobody knows, but it would seem that the Potters had a hand in it. Betrayed by their close friend - a wolf named Lupin - the Potter family none the less died. Imagine the surprise of headmaster Slughorn, ten years later, upon discovering that young Harry Potter was still alive! But where has he been in the past ten years?
1. Prologue: Reminiscences of Revolution

**Prologue: Reminiscences of Revolution**

* * *

**Godric's Hallow, 31 October 1981**

It was a dark night; no stars to be seen, the moon hidden behind some clouds. Yet it wasn't merely a dark night; it was a 'dark' night. Something sinister lurked in the shadows. The presence of something evil could be felt. An ever impending doom. Vile, malicious, the kind of feeling that would make you turn tail and run for hours on end. Of course, it was Halloween; a feeling of dread, scary shadows, and unnatural happenstances were entirely to be expected.

But on this particular Halloween, the gates to - and from - the living world were even farther open than usual. Death had cast its reviled shadow over Godric's Hollow. A family would die.

It was an empty street; children, happily collecting candy, were nowhere to be seen, as if, somehow, they knew what was about to happen. Curtains were closed, although light could be seen from behind them. A shadow fell upon the street, barely visible in the dark, yet one couldn't not notice it. Had there been people on the street, they would have been petrified, their gazes drawn to this emerging blackness. There were none, however, and the black figure purposefully marched through the street with long strides. He was alone and hidden underneath a piece of black cloth that inspired terror and fear. He was alone, for his business was too important. Too secret.

He came to a halt, all of sudden, and turned around in the blink of an eye. He rose his hand, as if to grasp the air, as if he was searching for something. After a few seconds, he froze. He murmured something. Blue light appeared around the man, although nobody would have been able to trace its origin. Blue markings, too, visible in the air in front of his head, yet only for the smallest of seconds. A mighty roar and a tidal wave of energy spelled the end of the light. It also spelled the end of parts of the street, and half of a house; the shockwave had vaporised parts of the pavement.

Yet, attached to the now-destroyed pavement, next to a scorched and collapsing house, stood another house. It was the strangest of things, really; a whole house appearing out of nowhere. A house, so unlike any of the other houses on the block, a princely home, fit for a nobleman - indeed, it was no house, it was a manor. Its white marble bricks shone oddly in the eerie darkness of the street, but after a few seconds, the glowing ended. What would have fit in a movie - the protagonist finally finding the item he or she was looking for, accompanied by an epic choir and an angelic glow - now looked like a devastated manor, inhabited, yet far short of its glory days.

The man strode inside, the door swinging open for no apparent reason at all, save the commanding aura of the man. An invisible barrier of light grey became visible the moment the man walked through it. It promptly cracked and fell apart, too, and now, voices could be heard.

"It's him!"

A tiny smile surfaced on the man's face. A malevolent smile. Still walking with long steps through the hallway, he heard two adults rushing away.

"Go, take him - Go! I'll hold him off! I... I love you! Now go! Save him!"

A man's voice. Someone ran away. Something - a table? - was thrown on the ground. And then - a cry. A baby's cry. The man's smile grew. He reached the end of the hallway and paused for a moment. He lifted his hands, and a strange wind began blowing around him. After mere moments, the roaring sound of a storm drowned out all other sounds. Paintings, candles, and even pieces of the wall flew around him in a whirlwind of power. Then, he pushed.

His arms shot forward like lightning. In less than a tenth of a second, the door was completely blown away. A storm had been unleashed, an explosion of magic, ravaging everything in its path. Only a second later, an eerie silence hung in the air. The hallway looked ready to collapse, missing various stones and decorations. But the room he now stood in wasn't 'ready to collapse', no, it was a warzone, it had collapsed ten times over. Taking in the sight of his work, of a job well done, he saw that a table had been put in front of the door. A table, of which now only splinters and dust remained. A table, meant to protect the other man in this room. A man, barely recogniseable as one, split in numerous pieces, flattened and utterly destroyed by the storm. A man once known as James Charlus Potter, now smeared out over the whole room; blood, bone, and flesh was everywhere. The room, once perhaps a dining room, now looked like the epicentre of the detonation of a nuclear bomb.

A job well done indeed. But he had work today, as indicated by a baby's cry, coming from upstairs. A pity the Potter patriarch had to die. He had been one of the more reasonable purebloods. After quickly repairing the staircase, he went upstairs. He didn't need to use any magic to determine where his target was, for when he arrived at the upper floor, a flash of red hair shot out of a room. Probably intending to surprise him - which was funny, really - but doomed to fail. She couldn't even fire a single spell before she was slammed against the wall.

There was no escape possible from a pocket dimension, save for the designated entrance and exit spots. Portkeys work only in the dimension they've been created, and traditional apparition fails outright. The house, having been hidden inside a pocket dimension, and having also been Fidelius'ed, was the perfect fortress. And the perfect death trap.

"So, Lily Evans. Muggleborn. Strange, isn't it? Yes, James Charlus Potter was a reasonable man, that much I admit. And yet he valued tradition and ideology over the oppression of many thousands. Is that the selfless, honourable man you know?"

He smiled. She cried, silently, shaking her head.

"Have you ever realised, Evans, that he, through passivity, accepted and even enforced the laws that discriminate against you - and all other muggleborns? The laws that would have your friend Remus Lupin locked up in Azkaban? The laws that would see you be little more than a toy, a sex-slave, dare I say?"

"NO!" She cried out in horror. "That is FALSE! James was an honourable man, a good man, how DARE you?" She spat and kicked, trying to break free from invisible barriers. Truely there is no fury like a red-haired woman's.

"Perhaps. I offered him my hand in friendship. Alas, he declined. And I make the same offer to you, Lily Evans. All I require is your child. Harry James Potter. Regardless of your choice, I will take him. Think, Evans. Muggleborns are prided on being more rational than pureblooded bigots. Do you honestly think you can stand against me? What difference will it make if you die here or not? You knew it would come to this, even before he was born. You were told of the prophecy, were you not?"

She kept shaking her head.

"So you do not know the precise wording of the prophecy?"

He looked into her eyes, preforming silent and surface-level legillimency. She did know about the prophecy, but not the exact wording.

"A pity. I don't know whether this was a smart move, or an incredibly dumb move by Slughorn - or were it the Blacks? No matter. I assume you reject your chance at living in a world free of bigotry and oppression?"

At this point, she lay against the wall, rocking back and forth, wand having fallen from her hand. The effects of a Dementor's Shroud - Veil, Cloak, Mantle, however you want to call it - are terrifying beyond belief. If one was exposed to it long enough, he or she would become little more than a crying, shaking blob of flesh, continuously tortured, beyond any hope of recovery. No wonder, then, that with Riddle wearing one, Lily Evans lay on the ground, shaking and crying.

Without looking back, he walked into the room from which Lily Evans had emerged, but not before casting a gust of wind that slammed her against the ceiling, breaking her skull and killing her instantly. This room clearly was the bedroom of Harry James Potter, son of James Charlus Potter and Lily Potter née Evans. A mere baby, prophesied to be the downfall of so-called Dark Lord Tom Marvolo Riddle. He laughed internally. As if a baby whose sole ability was crying could best him. Indeed, a cry from the Potter boy seemed to confirm that this whole prophecy business was nonsense.

But dealing with fate was a fickle business, although he had come prepared. Out of his extensive repertoire of spells, he would use Avada Kedavra. Direct and to the point, but also bland and uncreative. Dark magic - an Unforgiveable, even - fuelled by emotion, fuelling addiction and desire. He detested it, but it was the best way. He pointed his wand and cast the spell. Two words.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

He shouted - screamed, even - because the curse is fuelled by emotion, and he didn't want to leave anything to chance. Green light shot out of his wand, heading straight for the boy's head. The beam seemed to hit, although the green light of the curse made it impossible for him to see the boy. The room didn't glow green as much as it usually should have, though. Instead, the room glowed blue, just like the blue light in the street, a few minutes ago. The room seemed to spin around, a vortex of blue centered on the corpse, still hidden from view by the light. The green light of Death was sucked up by this vortex. The vortex expanded, sucking in more and more, devastating the room. He tried to penetrate the vortex of blue light, to see the boy, to know with absolute certainity that he was dead, but he couldn't. He swayed, simultaneously pushed and pulled by the growing vortex. He lost his balance, against the overpowering force of the whirlwind.

Of course, he couldn't apparate away, and of course, the portkey he carried on him all the time didn't work. Fumating in these circumstances would probably destroy his molecular integrity, there was too much chaos to flame away, and his house elves couldn't reach him. He felt himself being pulled in the vortex. He knew it would consume him. He knew anyone else would die then and there, but not him. Never him. He had a plan.

The pull was too strong, his body stretched thin and fading away in the maelstorm. A gold glow briefly overtook the blue glow, before disappearing just as quickly. Then, an ear-shattering explosion and a huge fire. The house burned to ashes in mere moments. And on those blackened lands, where once, a house had stood, now full of ash and small fires, a young baby glowed blue, the light flowing into him. And while the street burned, while the other houses collapsed into dust, and while its inhabitants screamed in terror, one man was watching.

"Interesting." He remarked. Unnoticed by anyone, he walked - glided? - over to the epicentre of the firestorm. The epicentre devoid of fire, strangely enough. He saw the last of the blue light fading into the baby, now unconscious. He picked up the black cloak lying next to the baby. A Dementor's Shroud, all that remained of the former Dark Lord. After casting a few spells, he disappeared. And the baby, still unconscious, was engulfed in fire.

The proverbial Helm's Deep had fallen. And with it, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Dark Lord of Britain. Many had fallen for his forked tongue and empty promises. Many had died fighting his forces of inhuman creatures and impure men. But in this manor, his power had been undone by the Potters, and all that remained was a small child - a baby, even. Such a peculiar creature, he didn't yet know how important he would come to be. He didn't yet know what exactly depended on him. Harry Potter, heir and all that remains from House Potter, had saved Magical Britain from revolution and terrorism. Or had he?

* * *

**Author's Note:**

First of all; thank you for reading! My writing sucks, I know, but I'm Dutch and I just do it out of boredom. That, and I like worldbuilding. I used to spend a large part of each day reading Harry Potter fanfictions, but I haven't done so for about half a year... I really dread catching up to everything I missed. Anyway, comments, opinions, criticism, anything you feel like sharing, would be greatly appreciated! But I warn you now, updates for this will be _slow_, and that is if they come at all.


	2. Chapter I: Growing Up Black

**Chapter I: Growing Up Black**

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, 1965**

He had woken up early. What child wouldn't, when it was his birthday? The party would be boring, but the food would be delicious! And the presents! Presents! With that thought, he jumped out of bed. He wanted to wake them all up. Little Reggie, and his father, and even his mother! But he had learned that he shouldn't. He would have to wait, his father had said. But Reggie wouldn't mind, right? But his mother and father would. And Reggie liked his sleep. Hmmm...

Oh! He could go wash himself! That would make his mother and father proud, and it would mean he'd get his presents faster! Young Sirius Black, just turned six years old, climbed out of bed.

And there he stood, in his father's room. Fully washed, fully clothed, the perfect example of a pureblood heir apparent. He was rather proud of himself; he had made no mess, hadn't unduely awoken anyone, and most importantly of all, his mother had approved! She had found nothing to complain about, at least. And his father had smiled and nodded! He had carefully eaten breakfast too, trying his hardest to remember proper etiquette. He thought he had succeeded though!

He was slightly envious of Regulus; he didn't have any trouble with dull adult stuff such as etiquette, and his parents loved him for it. Secretly, he wondered if Regulus truely was a child. What child didn't like to play pranks, to have fun, to play with toys? Well, come to think of it, most children he knew... All of them were dull and boring, pretending to be old adults, talking about boring topics, reading boring stuff, and finding the proper way to drink tea more important than the latest broom; a Cloudcatcher 7, specifically made for children by a company from New Zealand. It wasn't the seventh broom though, so he wondered why it had a seven in its name. Maybe because seven was a powerful number. Oh, how he hoped he would get the broom! Even Regulus had been excited - to promptly inform everyone around that seven was a powerful number, which caused all the adults to glower in praise. Sirius had known that too though, but that was seen as stealing Regulus' moment of fame. Of course. Regulus could never do anything wrong, and Sirius could never do anything right.

Still, it was fun flying around with Regulus, and they loved each other. Maybe they'd both get the broom? That'd be awesome! Regulus was perhaps the only one who somewhat understood him, although Regulus always encouraged him to become boring and dull too. Was he really that weird, that he liked playing and joking and making noise and all that? From the stories he had read, that seemed like how children should behave... But the stories were fictional of course, so they could be wrong. Well, he didn't like his parents' lack of attention, and it would be nice to be praised like Regulus was, so he supposed Regulus had a point. Perhaps he should try to curtail his 'weirdness'. Which is why he had tried his hardest the last few days. And it clearly had payed off!

Instilled with pride, he was shaken out of his thoughts by his father's voice.

"Son. You know we have been disappointed in you. You're a brat, uncaring for your betters, completely ignoring proper pureblood behaviour, always running around and making a mess of everything - ..."

Well. That was one way to utterly destroy his newfound pride...

"... - But you have changed. We have seen you trying the past few days. We have seen you remembering your lessons on etiquette and proper behaviour."

And that was one way for his pride to reach new heights. He was being praised!

"Your mother says you are acting, purely to get presents. Which would be fitting of a Slytherin. None the less, she acquiesced to reward you."

Was it the broom? Could it be?

"You, as our oldest son, are by right entitled to be our heir. However, I, as both your father and paterfamilias, can remove this privilege, should I so desire. Your mother and I have discussed the matter, and have decided to confirm your heirship. You, Sirius Orion Black, are now formally and officially heir to our family."

It was nice, of course, that his parents finally favoured him over Regulus... But on the other hand, his parents always adhered to tradition, so this wasn't really unexpected.

"As heir, you will have a great responsibility to our family. You will have to uphold its good name, manage our acquisitions and finances, arrange marriages, and much more. Of course, with these responsibilities come privileges as well; you will be educated in the complete arsenal of our family's magic, and, as heir of the main branche of the Black family, you will be first in line for paterfamilias of the whole Black pedigree. This, in turn, will award you even greater benefits, as well as even greater responsibilities."

His father smiled softly, probably thinking him to be overwhelmed by the information. But he wasn't, he understood everything! He wasn't confused, he was disappointed. He smiled back weakly, but felt tears welling up in his eyes. There was no broom. Why had he even expected it? Since when did his parents know the word 'fun' after all?

"But we have another gift for you, son."

... Had they... Really?

"This, -"

His father unveiled something from underneath his cloak.

"- is titled 'De Sanguis Antiquissimorum Purissimorumque'; 'About the Blood of the Most Ancient and the Most Pure'. It is a self-updating book detailing all the ancient families. Therefore, over the centuries, it has come to contain almost all British families, as well as quite many foreign ones. This is an artefact beyond price, son, so I expect you to treat it well. It is a great honour, but worthy of an heir."

His father smiled more openly now, and expectantly held the book out to him.

"Happy birthday, son."

But he didn't take the book, and he didn't smile. Instead, he let his tears flow freely and ran away to his room, leaving a dumbfounded father behind.

"YOU'RE STUPID! I HATE YOU!"

A scream full of anguish, a door slamming shut, and then silence.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, 1970, the second day of Christmas holidays**

"NO! I do not care, mother! You can rot in hell with your pureblood crap! I -"

To say that the Christmas holiday was unpleasant for young Sirius Black was a gross understatement. Eleven years of enduring etiquette, tradition, manners, social parties, and worst of all, pureblood rhetoric. Eleven years of no freedom at all. Eleven years of grooming and molding, so that Sirius Orion Black would be ready to uphold the proud name of Black in school. So that he could seek out useful acquintances, powerful allies, and, perhaps, a worthy wife.

But Sirius' spirit was hard to break. Indeed, eleven years he had fought a battle of wills with his family, and so far, he had won. Oh, his first friend had been acceptable enough; the House of Potter was powerful - and had Druella Black not married Charlus Potter, James Charlus Potter's father? - but the rest... The Lupin family was apparently 'an isolated band of half-bloods and muggle filth reproducing through incest alone' - ironic and improbable, to say the least - while the Pettigrew family was 'a host of roaches polluting Britain's finest with their French roots, their weaknesses, and their failure as part of mankind'.

Truely Walburga Black was a lovely woman. And then there were the so-called mudbloods; 'poisonous pigs fit for slaughter'. Of course, the fact that he was in Gryffindor - not Slytherin - merely compunded the problems; this was 'an eternal stain upon the House of Black, yet not one entirely unexpected, given your naiveness and foolish idealism'.

Yes, to Walburga Black, Sirius had failed in his duties to the House of Black. He should be seeking out powerful allies and a good wife, worthy enough to ensure the continual of the House of Black. Connections are everything, as the upstart Malfoys know well. With Sirius in Gryffindor, it would come down to the other members of the Black family to counteract the influence and deceit of House Malfoy. Because, instead of doing all that, Sirius, immature and childish as he was, was pranking and joking and treating Hogwarts as a theme park. Where he should be learning, he slacked. Where he should be socialising, he confined himself to Gryffindor rabble. Where he should be building alliances, he pranked anyone and needlessly antagonised everyone.

Orion said he had changed for the better. That he was less rebellious, less childish, and less immature. That he took his studies just a bit more serious, and that he had cultivated cordial relations with respected young purebloods. But she didn't see it. And this attitude was not acceptable. This was not how he had been raised - Regulus was a perfect example of proper pureblood upbringing - and this most certainly was not becoming of a Black - let alone of the heir ascendant! The impudent brat, the immature child, needed to be taught a lesson he wouldn't forget.

"... - Never be - ..."

"Crucio."

She coldly intoned, interrupting Sirius' rant. It was as if the world had frozen. Everything was silent, tranquil. The red beam of light could be mistaken for a warm source of light. But then it hit the eleven year old child. And he screamed. The world ended. A devastated wasteland of excruciating fire. And he screamed some more.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, 1970, the third day of Christmas holidays**

"... - Heir! Not an enemy! Thi - ..."

"Eleven years Orion, eleven years! And still no true Black! The rascal needed to be taught a lesson before he defiles our name further - and not an enemy? He may as well be! The child was sorted in Gryffindor - GRYFFINDOR! By Thor, with that Ridd - "

The screeching sound of his mother's voice suddenly stopped. A deadly silence hung into the house. Sirius' mind screamed at him to run away; he was eavesdropping on a heated arguement between his parents. An arguement, apparently, about him. About yesterday. About his torture. And this foreboding silence could only mean one thing.

"SIRIUS ORION BLACK! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO OUR NAME, YOU - ..."

She started talking - no, screeching - before she even threw open the door. But his father interferred.

"No, Walburga, this is not the time."

He then turned towards him; Sirius.

"Son. You know about - ..."

He paused momentarily, as if tasting his next word, and finding it particularly disgusting.

"... - Riddle, do you not?"

Sirius meekly nodded. His father kept staring intently at him, while his mother could barely control herself. He suddenly realised what they were expecting. Always speak, and do so with two words.

"Yes, father."

"What do you think of it?"

The 'it' was stressed, as if saying 'him' would be a gross insult to the human race. Sirius was both relieved and worried. Relieved, because, for once, he could do the right thing - he could please them. They seemed to be worried about his loyalty, well, they could be assured he would never follow such an evil madman as Riddle. But worried, too, for he did agree with Riddle's views. Just not with his methods.

"Well, he does have his good points - ..."

That was the wrong thing to say, as Sirius himself had realised too. He really could do with some more tact and diplomacy. And earmuffs.

"YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE! TRAITOR! FIL - ..."

"Let him finish, Walburga."

The cold and calm voice of his father brought an end to the ear-shattering screeches of his mother. But his father wasn't amused, and certainly not pleased, at Sirius' response.

"No, that's not what I meant, I'll never join him! Or follow him, or support him! I - ..."

He took a deep breath and tried to appear more composed, as his parents liked him to be. Not a blubbering fool who rushes words, but a calm and collected man who thinks about every word before speaking. Of course, he was eleven, and besides, it was a load of crap in his opinion anyway.

"... - I know we have our differences. I do disagree with certain views and opinions sometimes expressed. But I disagree even more with killing, torturing, kidnapping... I will support Riddle's demise. I won't join him."

There. A nice speech to please his parents. His mother harrumphed, while his father nodded his head.

"Good."

His father said, before being interrupted by his mother.

"Yes. Very well. But clearly, you have much to learn yet, petulant child; eavesdropping on us, associating with undesirables, and defiling our family name at every opportunity - why, in my time, I would have been flogged, I would have been lucky to escape with both of my hands, you should respect your bett - ..."

"Come now Walburga. Today proved there is still hope for him. Let him have his peace, for now."

Luckily, his father interrupted his mother's rant. He wondered if his father really meant what he said; privately, he thought his father was just agreeing with his mother to prevent further rages and stop her outbursts. His father was a nice enough man, most of the time. He appeared as cold, calm, and calculating, but that was just his way of being nice. He had seen that the typical pureblood way of raising him wasn't working, and so he had opted for a 'wait and see' approach. Which meant that his father, unlike his mother, didn't constantly berate him. Although, he certainly had the ability to make anyone feel like a worthless fly whose only goal is to serve the Black family. He demanded power and respect by merely existing, and if anyone could lead the war against Riddle, it would be him. He wasn't a father, he was Father. There was no man more begetting of capitalisation and epithets than him.

Unlike his mother; an overgrown child throwing tantrums the moment even the slightest thing didn't go exactly her way. It really was a wonder that her vocal chords hadn't yet violently exploded. Had his mother suffered brain damage? Was it the inbreeding? A trauma? He had no answer for her behaviour. But it was pleasingly ironic; here was a woman always ranting about manners and etiquette, about 'conducting oneself with the proper decorum as is befitting of a noble pureblood and scion of the House of Black'. Obviously, her rage was none of that.

For now, his parents would probably let him be. His father would probably tell his mother to be more accepting, to tone down the rhetoric, so as to not push him towards Riddle. They didn't need to worry about that at all, but he'd gladly let them worry about it, if it meant this house would be a more tolerable place for him. If his father wouldn't intervene and stop his mother's rants, he strongly suspected he wouldn't be able to keep living here until his graduation.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, 1971, the first day of Christmas holidays**

"Sirius." His father nodded in greeting, inviting him to enter his father's room. Why, he didn't know; as far as he knew, he had done nothing wrong. He had curtailed his rebellious act a bit; less pranks, more politeness towards various acquintances, and all in all, he was well on his way of becoming an examplary pureblood.

He didn't like it at all, of course, but he couldn't risk being seen as a supporter of Riddle. He was a Gryffindor and had muggleborn friends - that alone was enough for most people to treat him as a stranger at best, a traitor at worst. On the other hand, he had made efforts to reach out to the other houses, to make friends with prominent members of society. Regulus had also introduced him to quite a few important people. He had tried - and succeeded, he thought - getting good grades and taking his study seriously. He still had fun with his friends - of course! - but he had reduced the amount of pranks or borderline bullying.

He privately congratulated himself on it. But was it worth it? That question had always been on his mind. Was it worth it, to curtail his natural character and innate traits, for acceptance by his family and pureblood society at large? To not be seen as a supporter of Riddle? Well... It probably was worth it. Maybe.

"Normally, an heir's training starts during the Yuletide holidays of one's first year at Hogwarts. Training in the art of duelling is then conducted under Odin's watch, culminating in one's introduction to the family's magic. Being held under the Cruciatus curse is no part of this training, as you are undoubtedly aware."

His father smiled softly in an apologetic manner. Had his father atually attempted to make a joke? It may have been in bad taste, but he hadn't expected his father to be capable of joking. He shivered and chose not to comment on it.

"Therefore, your training had to commence a year later; now. We will begin tomorrow. This will not be easy, and you will come to hate this holiday; you have missed your first Yuletide training, which will make this even harder for you. For now, I want you to study this."

His father pointed at a book on his desk, titled 'The Heir's Heritage'. After a moment of silence, thinking himself dismissed, he picked up the book and walked towards the door.

"Two more things, son."

Only the fact that he had lived with his parents for twelve year allowed him to detect the faintest trace of humour in his father's voice.

"Your mother made it quite clear to me that she doesn't expect you to succeed. She hopes you won't, hoping that I will make your brother our heir. Prove her wrong, son."

His father was really acting strange now. He almost seemed normal. Almost. He nodded, and displayed a brief smile.

"Oh, and Sirius?"

He opened a drawer under his desk and grabbed a long and thin package out of it.

"Your reward, if you succeed."

He blinked. And suddenly, he saw writing on the package. 'Domini Caeli', a renowned and exclusive company producing unique, specialised brooms, fine-tuned for its customers; the rich and pureblooded elite.

He was six years old again. And he did something nobody, none at all, could have ever predicted; he hugged his father. But even stranger was how his father reacted; he hugged back. And that moment would live on forever in both of their memories. A moment of happiness, a father with his son, a child with his parent. A life-changing moment for both of them. A smile and a hug. A broom, even. But most importantly; acceptance. Trust. Peace. Happiness.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, 31 October 1981**

"Krea - Father, you - The traitorous wolf, he - The Potters! Dead! Riddle is -"

A distraught man ran into a room, throwing the door wide open. Noble and cold, with its high walls made of cold, dark grey bricks, and its unlit chandelier up high. But also cosy and friendly, with its fireplace of dancing fire, casting cheery shadows across the room, and the luxurious chairs made from the finest dark wood, sporting a comfy cushion. A man of noble stature sat in this room, no doubt writing something important, with a quill in his hand and a scroll in front of him. A man, married, and father to two sons.

"Calm down, my son. We have raised you better than this. Do you gain anything by evocating incoherent statements, instead of waiting three seconds to gather your thoughts and speak calmly, in an orderly fashion?"

He spoke without looking up, the distraught man - his son, apparently - gasping for breath. After a few moments, having catched his breath, the son told his tale.

"Father, Jame - the Potters, they are dead! Riddle killed them, he must have, but - Lupin betrayed them! Us! They are dead! Murdered!"

The father looked up and slowly put his quill away. He stared at his son for a moment, in quiet acceptance of his ramblings. Then, abruptly, he stood up.

"We leave now. To Horace. Kreacher!"

An ugly creature - a house elf - appeared with a pop.

"Tell the family that we will depart. To Horace."

He added as an after thought, not even looking at the house elf, but instead, opening a drawer.

"Yes, master."

The house elf bowed and disappeared with another pop. The father pulled a small jar out of the drawer, and took some kind of black powder out of it. He threw it in the fire, which, oddly enough, turned green, instead of the usual red-yellow. Without looking back, he stepped into the fire and disappeared. His son hurried after him, saying words unhearable through the roaring fire.

Thus departed Orion Arcturus Black and his son; Sirus Orion Black.

* * *

**Hogwarts School of Wicthcraft and Wizardry, 31 October 1981**

They were in a dark, tiny room, in one of the many dungeons underneath Hogwarts. It was dark, dusty, smelly, and obviously, long since abandoned. When the two Blacks had floo'ed to Hogwarts, they had arrived in the elegant hall of white marble, where all eightteen floo points were located, as well as three portkey circles and a tiny spot not covered in anti-apparition wards. This was the only place where non-staff members could gain entrance to Hogwarts, excluding the main gate. But nobody who didn't inhabit the castle would enter it through the main gate; the trek towards it would take an hour or so, through unstable and arduous terrain, slowly losing its structural integrity thanks to an attack by Riddle in the past. Still, the land close to the main gate was prime ground for the students to entertain theirselves.

The Blacks, in the Entrance Hall, called for Horace Slughorn. Moments later, his head appeared in one of the floo-fires, clearly annoyed at the late hour. It was, after all, night, and Horace liked to use the nighttime to brew potions, experiment, or research. As it turned out, he had been trying to 'dissipate the magic of a Stupefy spell, allowing it to cover a large area, but keeping its power just as focused and concentrated as a normal Stupefy spell - like a Muggle bomb but less barbaric'.

Upon noticing the distressed look of Sirius and the intense gaze of Orion, his annoyance was quickly replaced by a sense of forboding and, of course, curiousity. After a short greeting, the Blacks demanded to come over, and immediately walked into the floo-fire. Horace was forced to retract his head in haste. Upon arriving in Horace's office, the Blacks were shoved into the next room available - which turned out to be this cold and dusty room, resembling the hideout of a convict.

There, Orion told Horace about the death of the Potter family. While all purebloods liked to talk in speeches, Orion could be surprisingly to the point if the situation demanded it. This explanation, therefore, lasted less than a minute, and left Horace cowering in fear.

"But if even the Potter wards were broken - Tell me, Orion, what will we do now?"

The tall, aristocratic man - Orion - looked like a visionary, a born leader. Firm and steadfast, powerful and mighty, he was a nobleman, or even a king. A man with charisma and the innate ability to make others do whatever he wanted them to. He was, as such, a perfect example of a Black. Horace, meanwhile, had fallen into disarray and despair. Sirius sat in a corner, listening, too upset to properly comprehend what was being said.

"Riddle is strong. But the Black properties are safe. Consider, Horace. The Potters were alone, in a safehouse - not in their ancestral home. Potter Castle is as good as impenetrable, especially with the aid of their family magic, but this manor wasn't. It relied almost solely on the Fidelius. On a traitorous werewolf"

He spat the last word.

"You are safe Horace. We are safe. Not only were the Potters brought down by treachery, it is my belief that, while not gone, Riddle is vastly weakened. The world will enjoy a decade of peace, more or less. But we mustn't grow complacent. You must assure this, Horace."

He continued, his tone becoming both warning and threatening. Horace merely nodded. Then, the full meaning of Orion's speech struck him.

"Wait, Orion, you mean to say... Riddle is gone?"

Hope shone in his eyes.

"Perhaps - I doubt it. But for now, yes. Something changed. I cannot pinpoint what exactly, but Pollux and Cassiopeia agree. The threat of Riddle is gone, for now, rest assured."

"What about Ja - The Potters?"

Sirius spoke his first words, still in apparent slumber.

"They, too, are gone. Forever. Pollux and Cygnus went to the Potters. Nothing is left but ash and scorchmarks. The street is blown up, and quite some muggles are dead. And the residue magic - Pollux assures me Riddle is gone, albeit not forever."

"This is..."

Horace couldn't find the words to express his relief and gratitude. Sirius merely sighed, and sank back into his self.

The Potters, his friends - gone. His best friend, James. The sweet girl, Lily. And their cute son - his godson - Harry. Gone. He would have brought them back in an instant, if he could. Even if it meant resurrecting Riddle, too. What did he care? He wanted his friends. His first, true, proper friends. His only friends - the sole people with whom he could be his self. Gone. And with them, Lupin. Another one of his friends. A werewolf. They protected him, helped him, even. Everyone would have shunned him, bullied him - perhaps killed him. But not them. They, the Marauders, took him in. They were brothers. And this is how he repaid them? By betraying their trust? Truely werewolves are all dark and evil creatures. On some level, Sirius knew they weren't - but the wolf had just confirmed the stereotype. Luckily, he should have been carted off to Azkaban by now. The traitor. May he rot and die. His friend. Former friend. Gone.

And then there was Peter, poor Peter, his little brother. Wormtail, always so enthusiastic and adoring. Oh, he was a bit of a coward, but not in a bad way. He just preferred a stable, safe, and good life. And from time to time, he was a true genius, with extraordinary insights and ideas. Peter. The only thing left of the Marauders. He'd visit him tommorow. His last true friend.

As it turned out, Peter, too, was gone. Where or why, nobody knew. But his house was empty, devoid of anything indicating someone living there. Perhaps he feared that Riddle would come for him too, after murdering the Potters. Perhaps he feared Lupin coming after him, the backstabbing wolf that he was. Whatever the case, Peter had disappeared without leaving a single trace. And so, in one single night, the Marauders had died. Some literally, others figuratively. But the Marauders were gone. The inseparable band of brothers, seperated and on their own. The end of an era. And Sirius wept.

* * *

**Hogwarts School of Wicthcraft and Wizardry, 1991**

In the headmaster's office, Horace Slughorn was busy filling out some paperwork, mostly about funding and materials necessary for the various courses Hogwarts had to offer. It was a pleasant afternoon on a calm, if boring day. After more than a decade of hard work, Hogwarts had turned into an unrecogniseable school. And a much better place too, if the majority was to be believed. Of course, these reforms had happened gradually over many years, and it had happened years ago. But still, Horace Slughorn was proud of what he had accomplished. Well, the Black family, mostly, but Horace was the figurehead and headmaster of Hogwarts, so the public would look to Horace, and not to the Black family. He could survive without the Blacks backing him; he had lots of carefully cultivated contacts and influence, after all, but the Blacks had made his life so much easier, so much better... He liked to think of himself as an honorary Black. He was invited to most family gatherings, and was treated as an important human being - he wasn't a tool, certainly. But he recognised that his life could take a drastic turn for the worse if he ended up alienating the Blacks. Well, so long as he had his comfort, his stature, and his luxurity, who was he to complain?

Then, however, a loud 'BANG' made him almost fall out of his chair.

"Come in already. And keep the noise down, will you?" He grumbled, his peaceful musings rudely interrupted. He glanced at the door - ah, Regulus, the deputy headmaster - while lowering his head again, to file some more papers. Always the papers. You'd be surprised how busy the life of a headmaster could be, especially if that headmaster was Horace Slughorn.

"Sorry Horace..." He at least had the decency to sound a bit ashamed, Horace thought. "But, sir!" Regulus' former excitement came rushing back tenfold. And he only called him 'sir' if something was amiss. Horace sat up straight and tore his gaze away from the paperwork. "Look, here, this letter, the name!" He waved a letter in Horace's face.

"Now calm down please, Regulus. What is this hubbub about?" He catched hold of the letter Regulus was still frantically waving in his face. It was an ordinary letter, to be sent to the upcoming first years, informing them about Hogwarts - the school which they would probably attend, now that they had gotten their letter - about the necessary supplies they would have to buy, and a few other technicalities.

"Yes, I see, an ordi - ..." He froze. He had just caught sight of the intended recipient of this particular letter. Instantly, his grumbly, mildly annoyed demeanour were gone. Replaced by ice cold seriousity.

"Does Orion know?" He demanded.

"N - ..."

"Or Sirius?" He interrupted Regulus. Before he could talk again - he subconsciously noticed Regulus opening his mouth - he continued. "Have you informed ANYONE?" He spat out the last word, nearly roaring.

"No sir!" Regulus hasted to inform him. Good. He was sitting on a wild-hot dragon egg, as the saying went. It would hatch any second now. But he, of course, had the moral obligation to inform Orion, and especially Sirius. And this wasn't about to become his problem to worry about, oh no, that responsibility would go to the Black family. He sighed in relief, and sagged back in his chair.

"Come with me, Regulus. Use my floo. Orion must be informed. And Sirius. Poor, poor Sirius."

Life as a proverbial tool had its benefits - and while he wasn't a tool, he certainly thanked the gods for these benefits now. Let the others worry about the boy. Harry Potter. The boy, who apparently, was still alive.

* * *

**Author's note:**

As always, thank you for reading! I wonder what to say here, actually? I could explain a bit about the story and the direction I'm taking it into, if you want me to. But maybe people would regard that as spoilers. Funny thing is, it took me years to realise people didn't like spoilers. Personally, I do not play games or watch movies without knowing exactly what happens how and why.

But if you want more information or have a question, feel free to ask of course! Any criticism for improvement would be appreciated too - in fact, anything would be appreciated. And remember, updates will be slow. Glacially slow. Perhaps never, even.

Merry Christmas and a happy new year, too!


	3. Interlude I: Reality Reshaped

**Interlude I: Reality Reshaped**

**Author's Note:**

I am unsure if it's actually a good idea to put this here. If you choose to read this (and really, feel free to do so, unless you really hate spoilers), you'll gain a wealth of information about the setting of this story. Parts of this will be revealed in the story itself, of course. Perhaps everything, although I doubt I'll go into detail about Europe's geopolitical makeup at the time of Grindelwald, so if you really don't want to miss anything, read this! I did actually once make a map of magical Europe (which is vastly different from non-magical Europe), but I'm unsure if it'd work. Here's a link, but I'm not going to put a date on the map - perhaps just after WWII? - and it's definitely not set in stone:

___imgur **dot** com **slash** _KeUDtxe

Mind you, the map isn't really relevant to the story, so I won't bother you with endless paragraphs detailing every nation beyond what I have done below.

I'm posting this interlude because a reviewer requested it. And on that note... Holy hell people, I see reviews, favourites, subscriptions... You're all awesome! This story doesn't even have 10000 words (well, it does with this interlude)! I said updates will arrive at a glacial pace, if at all. And I know my writing really isn't that good (oh, I'd love to be able to write like Harry Potter and the Garden of Intrigue - Goyle is amazing!). So, really, people, everyone who read this, you're all awesome!

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Decades ago, a Dark Lord known as Grindelwald masterminded a huge war devouring all of Europe. He and his friend Dumbledore were bound to conquer all of Europe, both muggle and magical. They acquired artefacts of immense power, such as an undefeatable wand called the Elder Wand. But it was this artefact that killed Grindelwald, and with him, his dream of a united Europe.

One faithful day, Dumbledore, master of the Elder Wand, betrayed his old friend Grindelwald, and in a duel throughout space and even time, lasting all day and all night, Dumbledore, former dark lord, did what many millions wished for; he slay Grindelwald, and ended his dream. Without the insane-yet-powerful Grindelwald in control, his muggle allies - Nazis - were beaten back in a short time. Apparently, Grindelwald had taken control of the muggle leader of Germany; a man called Adolf Hitler. This possession, however, drove Hitler past the brink of sanity, into the abyss of insanity. And without Grindelwald's support, the mad Hitler collapsed his own empire. Plans for making Hitler a living horcrux were discovered, but they were probably just that; plans. It is speculated that these plans would have failed anyway; Hitler would be stabilised and augmented by the soul of Grindelwald, but he wouldn't keep Grindelwald from dying. 1943, and the horrible war was over.

One is left with one question; why. In the words of Dumbledore himself: "Gellert was a visionary, a man with a dream. And he was smart and powerful enough to make his dream reality. He was a good man, too; who wouldn't want a prosperous, wealthy Europe, united under one leader, free of war, disease, and conflict? Alas, such was his dream, such was not the way it turned out to be. Gellert became mad, consumed in a quest for more power and knowledge. Magic corrupted him, artefacts ruined him... His very soul suffered unlike any other had before. And I knew I had to stop him, for literally nobody else could. And I did. I murdered my friend. I swear you, people, he meant well. We both did. Do, even. Yet I can no longer believe that the end always justifies the means. The whole greater good... It's what killed him in the end."

Some say Dumbledore just didn't want to share with Grindelwald. Whatever the case, Dumbledore certainly is strange, and most agree that he shouldn't be trusted. Indeed, some want his wand to be taken away from him, but Dumbledore is proficient in wandless magic. That, and his wand is the Elder Wand; it would repair itself when broken, and go back to its owner when taken away, unless magically disarmed. Dumbledore refused to be disarmed however, and binding his magic seemed excessive to most. He did, after all, kill Grindelwald.

Dumbledore expressed his desire to teach children. Of course, this caused a massive uproar; Dumbledore, an evil, dark, and frightfully powerful dark lord, teaching innocent and vulnerable children? Was Dumbledore looking to recruit young people, ro fill their heads with lies and propaganda? Was he a rapist, a child molester? But if one were to look past these preconceptions, Dumbledore appeared to be a kind man, eternally sad, ever regretting the horrible acts he committed, and extinguished of life. Was this an act? Perhaps.

In spite of vehement objections and even some riots, Dumbledore was allowed to become the gate keeper and caretaker of Hogwarts. Living somewhere in a hidden tower, the student populace almost never saw him, and eventually, the howlers and angry parents disappeared. He was closely watched by headmaster Horace Slughorn, however. Rumours circulate that the two of them were lovers, but those are only rumours.

But life wasn't fine and dandy after the fall of Grindelwald. To explain this, we have to backtrack and look at just how Grindelwald - and Dumbledore, until he turned tables - would have created his united Europe. It relied on the perfect execution of his plans; Germany goes on a rampage (supported by Grindelwald and Dumbledore), leaving Europe too weak to do something about Austria reforming into the Magical Empire - paradise of purebloods - and growing through 'voluntary' annexation. Eventually, Grindelwald's allies - who would mostly be fascist - would resemble this Magical Empire more and more. With most of Europe under his control - and being the most powerful by far - victory was but a matter of time.

Magical Europe looks vastly different than muggle Europe, though.

Magical Italy consists of Roma, the Sicilian Kingdom, Genova (Genoa), and Venexia (Venice). Only the latter hadn't followed its muggle counterpart by declaring alliance to Grindelwald. Instead, Venexia had demanded Dalmatia. This was unacceptable for Grindelwald; the Magical Empire (Austria and much of the Balkans) was the spill of Grindelwald's plans. Besides, Venexia was a small nation that thought itself to be far superior to anyone else. It had always demanded impossibilities and was as idiotic as it was arrogant.

Roma, a power-hungry fascist nation after a coup in 1923, wanted control of the whole of Italy, but was content to let the other magical nations of Italy exist if they cooperated. The Sicilian Kingdom was proud, but very pragmatic. Roma had power, so they'd follow Roma. Genova was the arch-enemy of the Kingdom of Burgundy, ever since the magical Papal States were relocated to Avignon in 1309, because of a Christian-Paganist split. It's not as if they cared much about that nowadays anyway, but it was the reason for the first war, with many to follow, the reason becoming irrelevant. They'd also follow Roma. That left Venexia as the fourth nation of magical Italy. Roma and Genova disliked Venexia - although the money it had brought into Italy was nice - and the Sicilian Kingdom only tolerated it because of Venexia's black market.

So after giving the green light for Roma to conquer Venexia, both muggle and magical Italy followed Germany, and thus Grindelwald. Muggle Portugal became the Estado Novo - the New State, the Second Republic - in 1933, under the leadership of António Salazar. It was corporatist and authoritarian, and close enough to fascism. It supported Germany in establishing a fascist regime in Spain, but didn't form an actual alliance.

Why not, one might ask. Portugal and the United Kingdom were firm allies. In fact, they had been so since 1373, making this the oldest alliance of the whole muggle world. This was the same for their magical counterparts, except that magical nations, generally, are much more resistant to change. So while muggle Portugal embraced Salazar's regime, magical Portugal did its best to remove it, and turned to the United Kingdom. The United Kingdom didn't help much, nor could they have; their magical armies were rather weak compared to the Fascist Forces, as they were called.

Many Portugese wizards and witches fled the country, after it became clear they couldn't 'save Portugal from fascism'. Salazar was a powerful wizard, and his personal army was well-trained. Further, Salazar secretly aided the muggle Francisco Franco in uniting Spain under a fascist government. The Falangists, a Spanish, magical terrorist group, helped greatly in uniting and stabilising the Estado Español; the Spanish State.

Magical Spain was only united in the loosest sense of the word; seperatist movements and all kinds of (terrorist) groups held control over large swathes of Spain, and only thanks to Salazar's support and the Falangists could Spain be united, not only de jure, but now also de facto. Salazar, eventually, took direct control of both magical Portugal and magical Spain. Sensing that muggle Portugal was too passive, too meek for his goals, he opted to unite the whole Iberian subcontinent under his rule, and established Iberia Maxima.

With both muggle and magical Italy, Spain, and Portugal at his side, and Scandinavia mostly neutral, Gellert easily crushed France. Sure, their muggle army was good, but their magical army was utterly destroyed by a coordinated invasion from Spain, Italy, and Germany herself. It was imperative to keep the British out of the war, so that Grindelwald could focus on the east front. Magical Britain is naturally isolationist and still has a competitive dislike for France, but the muggle government declared war over the invasion of France. And the influx of Portugese wizards and witches slowly but surely tipped the public's opinion to favour war in magical Britain too.

To dissuade the British, Grindelwald started a terror campaign; targetting innocent civilians and infrastructure with both muggle bombers and magic raids. Death Squads, these raiders became known as. The British were held at bay, continental Europe was under control of Grindelwald, and the newfangled Coalition of Slavic Warlords had no hopes of stopping Grindelwald's march east. The Magical Empire - a simple yet fear-inspiring name - had been established, and especially with Germany doing rather well for herself, victory was assured... But then Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, master of the Elder Wand, betrayed his cause and allegiance, betrayed Grindelwald, and betrayed the Empire.

Being the master of the Elder Wand, one would think this fight wouldn't last long. But Grindelwald was, besides a highly capable warrior, a scientist to boot. A mad scientist, that is; an experimenter, a tinkerer. He and Dumbledore revolutionised magic, and indeed, it's suspected that, without the two, the wizard world of today would have been much more backwards. While Dumbledore enjoyed discovering, learning, and inventing, Grindelwald had a more practical attitude; he enhanced himself beyond any former limits through gruesome rituals. Thus when Dumbledore sealed Grindelwald away in an infinitely small pocket of unmoving time, Grindelwald broke out, and battle commenced. A battle lasting more than 24 hours, involving rituals, clones, illusions, and careless manipulation of space and time. Lesser minds would have gone insane - have gone insane - trying to comprehend this battle. Yet Dumbledore and Grindelwald fought it. And Dumbledore won.

Dumbledore, of course, was too powerful to be contained, to be locked up. The International Federation of Warlocks (IFW) - the 'army' of the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW) - was powerless against him. And he had killed Grindelwald, thereby ending one of the darkest and ugliest wars ever. So Dumbledore, to the outrage of many, remained free, yet carefully watched. Dumbledore requested to become a teacher at Hogwarts, which was promptly denied. But Dumbledore, voluntarily confined - one might say, imprisoned - to Hogwarts for most of the year, was an attractive prospect to the IFW and the ICW. Hogwarts herself, and her headmaster Horace Slughorn, were capable of watching over Dumbledore, as much as anyone could, if not better.

While nobody really is certain of what happened to Grindelwald, Dumbledore claims he's locked up in Nurmengard. Nurmengard itself being sealed away in a pocket dimension. The most likely theory is that Dumbledore used a combination of the Mokeskin Enchantments, the Undetectable Extension Charm, and the Collapse-Prison Charm, tuned up to eleven. Whatever the case, Grindelwald is a non-issue. And Dumbledore became safely locked up in Hogwarts, becoming the gate keeper and caretaker, but always working from the shadows. Some wonder if Dumbledore truely is at Hogwarts, because next to nobody has ever seen him. which might be for the best, really.

Under Horace Slughorn, a progressive wizard with an open and keen mind, favouring knowledge and learning, gladly incorporating all the new and exciting magic uncovered by Dumbledore and Grindelwald, Hogwarts flourished. The Academy of Magic in Wales lost many of its students, now only attracting those who want to see a Common Welsh Green - a dragon - in real life. The Oxford-Cambridge Magical University was the place for any wizard or witch desiring a throughout education in economics, management, and other such things. Now, with Hogwarts having re-installed these courses, rumour has it the University is going to close its doors. Only the Irish Frodleikr Fjall hasn't seen a dramatic decrease of students. Frodleikr Fjall isn't really a coherent name; 'frodleikr' meaning 'lore' and 'fjall' meaning 'mountain'. It was established by the Vikings, and mainly focuses on seamanship and water elementals.

But while Hogwarts flourished, not everyone who graduated did the same. Take, for example, young Tom Marvolo Riddle. An orphan, abandoned by his muggle father who had been fed love potions by his magical mother. She promptly died upon giving birth, leaving Tom all alone in an orphanage. This orphanage, then, was destroyed in 1933. Dumbledore himself - and possibly a few of his followers - had come to raid an underground potion's laboratory owned by Horace Slughorn, said to have invented Bibemperius. A bottled variant of the Imperius curse, this would be highly useful to the two dark lords. Something went wrong though, and by the time Slughorn arrived at his laboratory, Dumbledore had long left and a magical shockwave had utterly destroyed the laboratory, as well as the orphanage above it. With Tom's orphanage destroyed, Tom was left in the hands of two ordinary muggles; Rufus and Ross Parilis.

These muggles, however, were rather poor, although they loved their adopted child like most parents would. They sympathised with the socialists and communists, and this all greatly influenced Tom Riddle. No longer was he the abandoned, hated child, who none the less was more powerful, more special, and more worthy than his peers - and even elders. No, this Tom Riddle was loved, disliked discrimination and racism, and thought it to be unfair that some had so much, while others had so little. Yet nurture doesn't completely overcome all of nature; he still had the brilliancy and ruthlessness of the old Tom.

In 1938, Tom entered Hogwarts. Sorted into Slytherin, he was a caring, friendly boy, always willing to help his peers. He was also brilliant, a genius, really. He envisioned a world free of bigotry, poverty, corruption, and all-around negativity. And he had the brains and willpower to make this vision reality. Alas, during his fifth year - 1943 - his life took a turn for the worst. Just as the school year had ended, the legendary duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald commenced.

It began with Dumbledore and Grindelwald battling at King's Cross Station. Not wanting to risk civilian casualities, Dumbledore apparated into the pocket dimension through which the Hogwarts Express travelled, seeking to collapse this dimension and trap Grindelwald in what could best be described as a broken, half-existing space-time continuum.

The only problem was that the Hogwarts Express had already left Hogsmeade Station and therefore had entered the pocket dimension - and with the train inside it, reinforcing its stability, the pocket dimension couldn't collapse from the inside. Dumbledore, realising his mistake, apparated back to King's Cross Station. Considering the only entrances and exits of this pocket dimension are King's Cross Station and Hogsmeade Station, this seems like a logical decision.

It's just too bad that King's Cross Station was blown up in the ensueing duel. Both the muggle and magical parts, and including the entrance of the pocket dimension. The pocket dimension deflated and collapsed, like a huge balloon with a tiny hole in it. The Hogwarts Express was propelled out of it at a speed faster than sound, and thundered right through the streets of London before crashing to a halt. Hundreds of wizards, witches, and muggles were killed, including about 40% of the students on board of the train. And including Tom's parents.

They didn't die instantly; his mother found herself without most of her legs, and his father's side was crushed and torn apart, but they were alive when a bruised and battered Tom ran out of the ravaged Hogwart's Express. They were also alive when Tom begged a passing Mediwizard to heal his parents. And they were long enough alive to hear the reply, too. That they were just muggles, that there were much more important people to heal, like wizards and witches. And then they died.

From that day on, Tom Riddle became a vehement supporter of muggles, muggleborns, magical creatures, and everyone else who wasn't part of the pureblood elite - everyone who had to endure racism and discrimination to some degree. Of course, he had always disagreed with the casual discrimination, but now it had killed his parents. He had always been an outsider in Slytherin, because of his half blood status, his tolerancy, and his Hufflepuffish character in general. Yet now, with Tom going on a crusade against this discrimination, tensions rose to a new high. Not even a month had passed, after returning back to school, and Tom Riddle had relocated to the Hufflepuff common room.

Tom had friends in all houses, although not many Slytherins stayed loyal to him. Still, he had a large group of friends, growing even larger now that he was a figurehead preaching against the discrimination and bias so prevalent in the wizard world. He was still his friendly, polite, and helpful self, yet he was cold - and later, even cruel - against those who discriminated. He was also extremely powerful, for underneath his friendly face was a sharp mind, the mind of a genius. Tom Riddle was very much a mastermind, and some, who have a rather black-white view, debate whether he truely had any friends at all. Perhaps he was cultivating followers, they suggest. It has to be said, however, that Tom Riddle had the uncanny ability to get whatever he wanted.

Tom graduated with excellent marks, and entered the outside world. Thus started a darker chapter of his life. First of all, Tom had to get money. As such, he sold a few inventions and helped a friend start up a potions shop (for which he, in return, got a share of the monthly revenue). He also used his knowledge of both muggle and magical economics to quickly raise a good amount of money. It was, however, not exactly legal. That didn't bother him really; he was just playing the market like so many before him. None the less, after researching his ancestry, he discovered that he was probably one of the wealthiest persons to ever live, and stopped his money-making scheme.

Indeed, as it turns out, the half blood Tom Riddle, was heir to one of the most famous wizards of magical Britain; Salazar Slytherin. A man widely known to be evil, to hate so-called mudbloods, and to call for the extermination - or at the very least, segregation - of all non-purebloods. A man who built Hogwarts, and who was driven away from it, leaving behind a terrible monster to finish the cleansing of Hogwarts, as legend goes. Salazar Slytherin, the very antithesis of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

With his new-found wealth, Tom, cunning and sharp of wit, entered the arena of lies, of forked tongues, of deceit, treachery, and, some few times, assassination. Politics. Lord Slytherin, barely an adult, a plaything for the elite of magical Britain. He couldn't hope to stand against these giants with their experience and connections, with their vast amount of followers, carefully tied to them by magical contracts and oaths of fealty. This, indeed, would become Lord Slytherin's downfall.

Oh, it must have been an epic moment; the entrance of a young man, cloaked in one of the most expensive cloaks, carefully crafted specially for him, coloured black, silver, and green, with typical Slytherin decorations. Head invisible, shrouded beneath darkness, and a silver staff shaped like a snake radiating pure power - and closely resembling the staff the future Lucius Malfoy would carry. Emerging from the darkness, upon announcing his presence, he was met with cheering and vows of loyalty, so exhilarating and addictive was the power - the magic - radiating from this imposing being.

But this all ceased the moment he announced his views. Suddenly, he was a mere boy getting in way over his head, spouting nonsense about equality. Why, they were the political elite, the ones with the power to mercilessly crush whole families. And all of them, of course, purebloods. What a ridiculous notion it was, to grant power to virtual slaves and serfs, worth barely more than house elves? What good would their power be if there was nothing to rule over? Being pure of blood instantly set one apart from the rabble, the underclass, for those with pure blood held power - and fully deserved so, too, considering, on average, the top 10% of British wizards and witches consisted solely of purebloods. They obviously knew best. Let the common man work, get drunk, and die, not achieving anything of note whatsoever. But without the rule and guidance of the upperclass, anarchy would fall, and the eventual extinction of all magic would be inevitable.

Preposterous, really. What did this stranger, this mere boy, think? How arrogant could one be? Nearly everyone silently agreed. Yet politics called for realpolitik. And the political battlefield had long since been dominated by the Triple Alliance; the Conservatist-Traditionalist-Purist Alliance. And wouldn't it be fun for the Equalists, or for the Progressists to be in charge for once? Wilbert Philippe thought so too, and as presiding Chairman of the Communists, he alone welcomed Lord Slytherin in their midst.

A few days later, the political arena had been turned upside down. Equalists, Liberalists, and Communists, supported tentatively by the Progressists and a large faction of independents, had broken the Triple Alliance's hold on power. This was only possible thanks to a remarkable number of Traditionalists defecting to the Progressists, and the fact that the Imperialists refused to cooperate with anyone else. None the less, Lord Slytherin was seen as a prodigy, a hero, and perhaps even a messiah, by many of the Communists. He, and he alone, had turned the tables around.

Wilbert Philippe didn't take much notice of this undercurrent of feelings though. Wasn't he the elected Chairman of the Communists? He had the mandate to carry out his plans now. His plans, not Lord Slytherin's plans. But Lord Slytherin was... Different. He attracted people towards him, managed to convince even the loudest nay-sayer of saying yes, and radiated both power and promise. After only a few weeks, the Communist Party came together and, under heavy protest of Wilbert Philippe, voted Lord Slytherin in as the new Chairman.

Preposterous! For one, there was no precedent; a Chairman was elected every five years and couldn't just be voted out of office! And secondly, Lord Slytherin stylised himself as an aristocratic lord, the enemy of the working class, the antithesis of the Communist Party! Thus started a political deadlock. The old Triple Alliance wasn't powerful enough to accomplish its goals, but the Communists suffered from infighting. Indeed, the faction supporting Wilbert Philippe even staged a raid on Slytherin's vault in Gringotts. Most of them died, and Riddle, disgusted, left the political arena for good - together with those Communists loyal to him.

Political power slowly seeped back into the hands of the Triple Alliance, although the Progressists and Equalists would see a slow but steady increase in power over the coming decades. The Communists had, for all intents and purposes, collapsed, but a tiny core kept the party on permanent life support. Nothing concrete is known about Riddle during these times, but we can accurately predict his thoughts; 'if those bigoted idiots won't listen to the pen, why, perhaps they will listen to the sword.'

The years went by. Riddle's power grew phenomenally, and really, there wasn't anything extraordinary about the occasional person going missing - although the disappearance of the whole household of Arthur Weasley did raise a few eyebrows. But then, more important people went missing. People with power and influence. People affiliated with the Purists. People openly espousing bigotry. Investigation after investigation turned up nothing, and slowly but surely, an atmosphere of fear materialised above the people's heads like a permanent, dark cloud. Especially when Conservatists, Traditionalists, and anyone not completely supporting an end to bigotry began to be targeted too. Like a creature from the night, Riddle struck, unseen, swift and silent, but deadly all the same.

Riddle tried to both kill or otherwise silence any opposition, as well as to intimidate the rest into executing his schemes. He often worked through proxies; nobody could be trusted. Meanwhile, relations between the House of Black and the House of Malfoy had been deteriorating further and further, and the government was completely unable to fight Riddle. How could they, when nobody even knew Riddle was behind all of it?

Eventually, it was Orion Arcturus Black who extended the hand of friendship to the House of Malfoy. This symbolic ceremony - for it was undoubtedly a political move discussed first behind closed doors - took place in the Wizengamot, and marked the beginning of a new stage in this war. The government had failed. Time for these two powerful Houses to take matters into their own hands.

The old Triple Alliance of Conservatists, Traditionalists, and Purists, lead the fight against Riddle, but they were backed up by the Imperialists, large numbers of Progressists, and quite a few Equalists and Liberalists. Many prefered a peaceful solution over a violent one. By initiating violence, Riddle hadn't endeared himself to the world at large. Only scant days later, Riddle finally revealed himself as the mastermind behind all of it. He demanded that sole control of all governmental functions would be handed over to him. He demanded an end to violence, but more importantly, an end to bigotry.

He was ignored. Violence would go on, although Riddle's numbers increased massively with a huge influx of muggleborns, some half-bloods, and even a few purebloods. Two more unexpected factions fought for him too; creatures such as vampires, werewolves, or snakes, flocked en masse to him, and even muggles were eager to fight for their rights. The latter faction introduced a plethora of tactics, tools, and weaponry, scoring great succeses for Riddle. But the augmented Triple Alliance now had a concrete target; Tom Marvolo Riddle. The war moved away from assassinations in the dark, moved towards duelling and open war in broad daylight. Both sides fought hard, and both sides suffered immensely.

The stalemate could very well have lasted for years, had Riddle not paid a visit to the Potters. There, in the anticlimax of anticlimaxes, he died. Why or how, nobody knows. The Blacks were one of the first to be at the Potters' residence, where they found a lot of powerful and strange residue magic, as well as a fire devouring the whole neighbourhood. The Potters had all died; James, Lily, and Harry Potter. They had been very rich, but had decided to stay away from politics. Interestingly enough, Lily Potter had actually been Lily Evans, a muggleborn. None the less, James Potter had been a friend of Sirius Black, and Sirius confirmed that the Potters were firmly on the right side; against Riddle.

In one tragic night, all that had been left of the Potters was wiped out. They had become heroes now, for in that same tragic night, Riddle, too, was wiped out. Why Riddle targeted the Potters in specific - and why they had all died - remains one of the greater mysteries of these times. Rumours, all unlikely, some ludicrous, range from time travel to prophecies, but nobody knows. What is known is that, for some reason, the Potters had relied almost completely on the Fidelius. Why had they not stayed in their ancestral home, why had they moved to this almost defenceless manor? Why had they entrusted a filthy werewolf with their secrets? A werewolf, Remus Lupin, who had betrayed them to Riddle. A werewolf, who was now rotting in Azkaban, if not dead already. Good riddance, said many; the Potters were the people's heroes now.

And thus the war ended in an absurd manner fit only for fairytales. Reality, as they say, is often stranger than fiction. The war was over now, at the cost of many hundreds - thousands - of lives. Everything could go back to normal now; people celebrated and feasted, bigots freely ranted against the subhuman, Blacks and Malfoys could hurl insults at each other again... And ten years later, a certain child could go to Hogwarts. A boy, thought to be dead. A boy named Harry James Potter.

And though all would view this as an auspicious event - their saviour, returned from Death's doorstep! - some few people saw it as a prelude to darkness. The war had ended when the Potters had ended. Now, a Potter was back. Was the war, then, back too? 'No', they said, and that was that.

'Yes', said a clique of very wise men. War would begin anew. And they would thrive in it.

* * *

**The Government and the Political Parties of 1991**

_imgur **dot** com **slash** gg1yikP_

28% Conservatists  
24% Progressists  
15% Traditionalists  
13% Equalists  
11% Purists  
6% Liberalists  
2% Imperialists  
1% Communists

_Conservatists_ want to keep the status quo. They aren't led by any House per se, but the vast majority of wizards and witches identify theirselves with this party. It could be regarded as the base upon which many other parties are built, and is one of the more fluid and flexible parties - as well as the largest. New politicians often adhere to this party, and if a politician denounces his oath of fealty to one of the Houses, he or she often finds himself in this party.

_Progressists_, led by the House of Prewett, care for knowledge, research, and, indeed, muggle technology. The latter position has caused them to lose quite some potentional followers, but the Prewett family as a whole refuses to cede. Where the Traditionalists care about the research and discovery, the history behind it, and respecting the proper rituals, the Progressists are more rash, and like to tinker and experiment with their research, to see if it can perhaps be improved. And while the Traditionalists are purely focused on magic, the Progressists are highly intrigued by muggle technology, too. It's a typical Ravenclaw party, with a brush of Gryffindor, as careless experimenting and tinkering could easily lead to one's death.

_Traditionalists_, led by the House of Black, care about traditions, and to a lesser extent, magic. Ancient Runes, Ancient Rituals, and Old Magick, long lost knowledge that should be rediscovered. Traditions, rituals, and etiquette are very important, not only because it is required of an upperclass man - or woman - to behave according to his class in public, but also because many traditions and etiquettes originate from old magic, rituals, and rites. Paganistic elements and references to gods of ancient pantheons play an important role in the life of a Traditionalist. Traditionalists aren't necessarily supportive of blood purity or conservatism, and, indeed, they're all for the research and advancement of magic and the endless pursuit of knowledge, which is rather contradictionary to the Conservatists. However, the vast majority of non-purebloods knows next to nothing about the history of magic, and don't know much beyond the basics taught at Hogwarts, which means Traditionalists see them as boarish, barbaric, and dumb. Traditionalists could be considered an intellectual elite, often foregoing work straight out of Hogwarts, and instead travelling the world or take advanced lessons in various subjects.

_Equalists_, led by the House of Bones, strive for equality. Originally, this meant equality for blood and even races. Purebloods, muggleborns, centaurs, all would be equal. This made the party basically dead on arrival. Under Jonathan Bones, however, there wouldn't be a push for equality for more races, rather, there would be a push for equality before the law. Thus; a pureblood couldn't walk away scot-free while, had this pureblood been a muggleborn, he or she would've gone to Azkaban. A secondary position is that the dementors of Azkaban should be abolished, and that Azkaban should become a proper, ordinary prison. While still small, thanks to Jonathan's efforts, the party has definitely grown.

_Purists_, led by the House of Malfoy, care about blood purity. Openly by some, and secretly by many, regarded as a shallow and arrogant party, they are rather small, arrogant, and egocentric. They vastly overestimate their own importance, too; caring about the purity of blood is the norm, there's no need for a party specially made for that purpose. However, the Malfoy family, while small - and sometimes ridiculed for having French origins, not being as pureblooded as many others - is shrewd and not blinded by ideology, contrary to what one would think based on their party. Thanks to realpolitik, a large amount of alliances - albeit mostly with minor Houses - money, and intelligence in general, the Purists are more influential than what would be expected.

_Liberalists_, led by the House of Brown, want freedom. Absolute freedom of speech, for one. The freedom of a democratically elected government, too. The freedom of not caring whether one is black or white, magical or not so. The freedom to choose one's own path in life, to not be entrapped by pureblood etiquette and societal norms. The freedom of migration, so that others can move into British society and experience its joy. And so on. As such, the Liberalists are an interesting mix of Communists and Equalists. They were more powerful than both, until they followed the Communists and added another freedom to their manifesto; 'freedom from government'. The moment the leader of the Liberalists turned his party into anarchists, the overwhelming majority left the party. And although this has long since been reversed - the Liberalists don't want to abolish the government anymore - the party never really recovered.

_Imperialists_, led by the House of Blishwick, are similiar to the Purists, in that they, too, think pureblooded humans are well within their rights to lord over the rest. But where the Purists are internally focused - on Great Britain - the Imperialists seek to spread this ideal to the outside world. Slavery is perfectly fine, the military should be much larger, and a totalitarian - or facist - state is desirable. So long as they, the Imperialists, are in power of course. One of the most well-known issues of this party is the complete removal of the goblins of Gringotts, to give wizards and witches their own gold back. That, and the annexation of the Reservations and Nightshade, as well as Unionist Iceland. The core of this party is rather small, but people flock to it in times of war or dissent.

_Communists_, led by a Chairman, want equality for all. This party is the only party that has elections. Instead of being founded by a House, Jose Scartages, the first Chairman, made all members swear a binding oath to be loyal (when it comes to politics) to the current Chairman. Every five years, a new Chairman is elected by all members of the party. They all give their own twist to the party's politics. Originally, the party wanted equality for all humans and creatures, and a strong government that should make sure everyone had work and enough money to live a relatively comfortable life. But overtime, these goals became twisted and corrupted, according to many. Eventually, the party stated that the government should just be removed, with the Chairman (and therefore, the party) assuming sole command of the nation, so that he or she could easily redestribute resources and wealth, so that everyone could live in peace and prosperity.

However, Lapland, set up by Russian communists in cooperation with the Fins who wanted to be independent of the Tsardom, became a failed, feudal state. With Lapland being the only example of communism in action, not many were inclined to cast their lot with the Communists, especially not when the party's line changed frequently. The Communists would eventually collapse due to infighting, culiminating in a raid on Gringotts. Some conspiracy theorists suggest Riddle carefully manipulated the party, but the majority disagree. It is true though, that those few Communists left generally all joined Riddle.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Right then. The next chapter will be, at last, about our protagonist; Harry James Potter. He's with the Dursleys, but one would wonder how he came to be there. 'Nobody' (uh-huh) knows, so it won't be revealed anytime soon.

Once again, because it can't be repeated often enough; you, who are reading this, are awesome!


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